


john lennon is scared of mascara.

by itsmaz410



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: IM PROUD OF THIS, george n paul mostly know their shit, its great, johns hesitant and abit clueless, ringo is a mess, teddy boy era, they all wear makeup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 05:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20861321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmaz410/pseuds/itsmaz410
Summary: "S'like, ye dump the foundation on the foam thing, right, then ye put it on your face and rub it all in," Paul says, already squirting the contents of his bottle on the foam pad, wiping it on his face. The colour doesn't exactly match his skin tone, but since nobody in the room really knows that it's wrong, they're all impressed.alternatively known as: the beatles try makeup.





	john lennon is scared of mascara.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: mazzy410

It was a stupid idea, really. But it was happening.  
They had arrived at Paul's house in the early morning, and had messed around for half the day, singing along loudly to Presley records and carefully styling their hair like Elvis, to get more in character as they puckered their lips and shook their legs. They had stopped briefly to eat some lunch, smoking and chatting loudly all the way through. 

"Lads, I dare all of us ta put on makeup!" Paul exclaims suddenly, dropping his fork onto his empty plate. A curl of his dark, slicked hair falls in front of his eyes, and he quickly grabs his comb and puts his gelled hair back in place.  
John rests an elbow on the table, raising an eyebrow and leaning forward slightly. Ringo knocks his elbow off the table quickly, hissing something about having manners. John ignores him, a smirk on his lips as he watches Paul intently. "Y'think so? Inn't that a thing only queers do, aye?" He says, leaning back in his chair confidently. George takes a long drag of his cigarette, tapping the ash off the tip.  
"Well, like, queer people are good people, though. Jus' like us lads, see? An' maybe lads who aren't queer can like makeup, too. So I say tha' we go for it," George concludes. Paul begins to grin, fingers dancing across his fork as he smooths the pad of his thumb over the sleek metal.

"Don' .. Don' really want people thinkin' that we're queer though," John says, his voice a mumble, and he's much less confident than he was a couple moments ago. He folds his arms over his chest and stares around the table defensively. "But, we ain't leavin' Paul's house, John," George reminds him, and Paul nods with a grin.  
"Mm, okay," John agrees, after a long moment. Paul's smile grows bigger in seconds.  
"Ringo, you in?"  
"Hell yeah, mate!" 

"Now that's settled, do we even like, have makeup?" George asks.

All he gets is blank stares. 

Now, they're in the living room. George and Paul sit together on the couch, feet pressed against the floor, elbows on their knees, hands clasped tightly in front of their lips. John stood with his hips cocked, gazing down at the other two with furrowed eyebrows. Ringo sat on the coffee table, chin on his palm as he listens to the conversation.  
It actually looks rather serious. 

"Paul, would there be any in the house at all?" John asks, tapping his foot a little and checking his hair, using his comb and making sure it would stay in place. He just wanted to keep up the Elvis look for as long as he could. He absolutely adored Elvis. Anyway.  
"Doubt it, really," Paul answers casually, lighting a cigarette.  
Hearing that, George turns to Paul with an incredulous look upon his face, jaw going slightly slack as his eyes widen dramatically. "You feckin' suggested we try it, an' ye don' think you've got any?"

Paul scoffs and puts his hands up as if he were pleading he were not guilty, earning a loud snicker from Ringo. George groans exaggeratedly and falls back on the embroidered cushions, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, nearly knocking Paul's cigarette out his hand. "Okay, well, if there ain't nuthin in the house, then we've gotta go buy it ourselves," John declares, shrugging his shoulders. Everyone groans, because they were aware of how shitty the weather was. It was icy cold, and the weatherman had mentioned snow.  
"M'not fuckin' goin' out, it's fucking freezing!" Paul yelps, shaking his head rapidly. Even George hurriedly declines, curling up tightly on the couch and frowning with a rather crotchety expression on his face.  
"You or me, Ringo," John starts, then quickly begins to whine, "But I don't wanna go out an' buy makeup, people might say I'm queer or something!"  
"John, yer fuckin' going. Have fun!" Paul cries, and they're all rushing him to the front door, laughing as John wails in desperate protest.

By now, John's been gone for about half an hour, and everyone's getting a bit of nervous excitement, keeping an eager eye on the front door. They're trying to do something to distract eachother, but every time they try, they end up discussing the whole situation.  
"When d'you think he'll be back?" Ringo asks as they all simultaneously send a glance toward the door for the fiftieth time. George's combing up his hair into a quiff, cigarette held tight between his teeth as he stands in front of the mirror on the wall. Paul's flicking half-heartedly through the newspaper, looking rather uninterested by the material he was skimming over.  
"Dunno, really. S'only been like, half an hour, y'know," George mumbles through the cigarette that's held between his teeth, the lack of jaw movement making him sound as if he were irritated. As he slowly gets to the end of the magazine, Paul looks as if he were about to rip the newspaper in half.  
"He'll be absolutely freezing because it’s literally snowing!" Paul blurts out angrily, childishly throwing the newspaper down onto the table with a loud huff. George twists to send a look at Paul, as if to say 'calm down'. 

Without warning, the front door is thrown open so harshly that it bangs against the wall, startling the entire group. Paul swears loudly and nearly bangs into the coffee table, while Ringo lets out a tiny, high pitched squeal. George drops his cigarette and hisses at the sting as it hits his hand.  
But John shuffles in the door, nose and cheeks bright pink, hair wet from melted snow, his hands occupied by a bunch of plastic bags. He looks rightfully pissed off. He shrugs off his coat (that he had tugged from the coat rack as he was shoved out the door) and stomps over to the couch. 

"What'd you get, John?" Ringo asks, clearly delighted as he skips over to the bags.  
Paul's hurriedly throwing a woollen blanket over John's shoulders, holding him tight to make sure he won't freeze to death. George joins Ringo and drags the bags over, eagerly ruffling through each one and pulling out the items. There's many little bottles and tubes, but there's also big flat boxes that are labelled with fancy names. There's even perfume bottles. The variety of colours they see is wide, with dark and natural looking coloured items, but also bright and obnoxious ones. Paul looks at John in pure awe.  
"How'd you buy so much stuff, Johnny?"  
"Aunt Mimi lets me spend stuff often, don't think she'll be too upset," John responds, his nose and cheeks slowly losing the reddish glow. He takes a cigarette from the packet on the arm of the couch and lights it with a match. The coffee table is now cluttered with the many purchases, and Ringo looks eager to check everything out. 

"What's all this stuff, though? An' how do people like, use it?" George mumbles, clearly in a state of confusion as he gazes at the many colourful packages and plastic cases. John shrugs, looking rather hopeless as well. Ringo's just grinning excitedly, while Paul looks much less unsure.  
"Aight, what do we start with?" Ringo asks, eyes never leaving the display. Paul reaches forward and tosses multiple bottles at the boys. They're glass bottles, filled with a weird skin coloured cream. Then, they're being passed weird foam pads, and Paul begins explaining.

"S'like, ye dump the foundation on the foam thing, right, then ye put it on your face and rub it all in," Paul says, already squirting the contents of his bottle on the foam pad, wiping it on his face. The colour doesn't exactly match his skin tone, but since nobody in the room really knows that it's wrong, they're all impressed. George has a pale foundation, while Ringo's got a more tan colour. John's the only one that matches his skin tone, but he's missing a few areas of his face as he rubs it in.  
George hesitantly reaches for a stick of lipstick that's bright pink, but Paul stops him quickly, grabbing his arm gently with a grin. He's directed toward a dark red lipstick, called 'Heart Breaker.' "Right, George, don't ye think you should go for the dark stuff, see?" Paul's saying, in an encouraging tone.  
"You'll be a total heartbreaker, mate!" Ringo snickers, his face covered in the tan cream. He looks just a little bit ridiculous, with his neck still his normal skin colour. His fingers are covered in the foundation already.

"John, you get all the natural shit," Paul continues, throwing items at each of them, while somehow applying sweet pink lipstick perfectly. He knows the basics of makeup, at least, and he's taken up the role of teaching the others.  
"Oh, and Ringo, you.. uh, go for whatever, really," and Ringo cheers loudly. 

A few minutes later, they've all got a bit more done.  
George has applied the deep red lipstick on his lips, making him look rather sultry. He's got the foundation to work rather well, blending it down to his neck and on his ears. Paul's rather proud of the guy.  
John's lips are pale light pink, called 'Seductress', but it's not too noticeable. His messy foundation was hurriedly fixed by Paul, so he's looking rather put together as he tries to take a drag from his cigarette without smudging his lips.  
Meanwhile, Paul's got a hot pink shade of lipstick on his pouting lips, all shiny and sweet. And the name of the shade was 'Chatterbox', making him chuckle a little. He actually found the names to be interesting, really. Why did they need to be named?  
Then there was Ringo.  
He's got a sparkling blue shade spread over his lips, making kissy faces and giggling. The tan foundation really truly wasn't working with the bright blue, but it was wonderful that he was enjoying himself. 

"Mascara time!" Paul announces, beaming. Everyone looks a little frightened when he opens a bottle and shows them the little mascara wand with the spikey bits, and John shakes his head in fear. "Does it like, go in your eye or somethin'?" Ringo mumbles, tilting his head as he gazes at the foreign little item.  
"No, Ritch, you dumbass," George mutters, but then he freezes. He turns to look at Paul with a desperate, pleading look, shaking his head hurriedly. Oh jesus, please no. 

But to no avail, Paul's making him go first.

He unwillingly sits opposite Paul on the floor, their knees touching. John and Ringo are looking on with a mixture of horror and fear upon their faces, sitting up on the couch. Ringo's hair is falling out of place, and John's sucking anxiously on his cigarette, not caring for his lipstick at this point. The mascara stick looks menacing in Paul's hand.  
"Right, so like, tilt your chin up, an' look up for me," Paul mumbles as he shuffles impossibly close, getting right in George's face. Paul's about to go ahead and start, when George pulls back quickly, making Paul confused and the others relieved.  
"Mate, wait-", George mutters as he plucks the mascara out of Paul's hand, "I can do it myself, y'know, it's actually safer. Can ye get me a mirror or sumthin'?"  
They're all gobsmacked.  
"What?"  
"Wait, George, can ye do mine?" 

Soon, George's gazing intensely into the mirror, swooping the mascara wand through his lashes with a precise hand, blinking at the right moments, and making zero mistakes.  
Paul's shocked.  
"How do you know that?" Paul whispers in surprise, bright eyes wide. George's looking fucking gorgeous, too, now that he's got the dark lashes and red lips. Jesus. George shrugs, placing the mirror down calmly and twisting the mascara bottle closed. "Jus' seen how me Ma used to do it sometimes," George admits, as if it wasn't a big deal at all. 

Ringo's next, and George uses a steady hand to apply it as best as he can. Ringo's really looking a mess, with his hair all falling out of place, and his bright aqua blue lips. But luckily, the lashes don't get messed up.  
Until Ringo's eyes begin to water.  
"Don't wipe them! Like, uh, dab at 'em, real gentle," George instructs, grabbing tissues hastily, and Ringo stands in front of the mirror on the wall, messing around with his eyes. 

Paul's eyelashes are long, and George has an easy time as he applies the mascara. Paul is patient and still, and it turns out really nice. "Yeah, thas' good mate," George murmurs, sitting back to look over his work. Nodding with a sort of satisfaction, he turns to John.  
"Ye want mascara, mate?"  
John sucks in a sharp breath and shakes his head. So, George simply nods. There wasn't any reason to force someone into doing something they didn't want to. 

Moments later, they're huddled around a big palette of eyeshadow, gasping excitedly at the prospect of wearing the pretty colours on their faces. Ringo points at a bright orange shade, looking positively enlightened by the colour.  
"Yer gonna wear that? Mm, yeah aight, go fer it, Rings," Paul says, though he knows that he really shouldn't be encouraging Ringo to have such clashing colours on his face. But at this point, he's simply given up on the lad.  
John decides upon a warm brown shade, and also a shimmering white. He gets to work, standing in front of the mirror on the wall and shoving poor Ringo out the way. Ringo really doesn't seem to mind, heading to the little TV to see his reflection in some way.  
George gets a dark burgundy shade on his little brush. He takes the black shade, as well. He sits in front of the little mirror he used beforehand, making sure to tap the brush to get rid of the excess powder. Paul goes for a sweet light pink, dusting it over his eyelids carefully.

"Aight, lads, we think we're done now?" John asks, still looking in the mirror. Ringo's nearly stabbing himself in the eye from what Paul can see, but he's not looking as if he's in pain. So he sets down his brush, nodding. "I'm done, mate," He says, settling back on the couch.  
Ringo turns around from the television and puts the brushes down on the coffee table. Paul can't hide the hiss of shame that leaves his mouth when he sees Ringo's face.  
George and John soon return and settle down. 

Paul's got a pale pink look, though due to the hot pink on his pouting lips, they're the most attention grabbing. But his eyelashes are thicker, darker and they look fuller. His hair has been styled so its down in a soft part, still a bit curly. He looks as if he's supposed to be in a soft sweater. He beams while he easily lights a cigarette, looking rather proud of his work.

George clearly went for the sultry dark look. His cheekbones are shockingly prominent, as he lowers his head and gazes at the others through darkened lashes. His eyelids are dark red and the edges are softened with black, while his skin is pale due to the foundation, creating a contrast. His lips are shining with a deep red shade, and his dark hair enhances the look. 

John's got a neutral look, with correct foundation, warm brown eyeshadow and white powder on his long lashes to make up for the lack of mascara. His darkened lips are pouted outward, and he's resisting the urge to crack up as the boys gaze at him. "Come off it, I look dull an' boring!" Of course, the boys protest and loudly disagree.

Then there's Ringo. His tanned foundation is slightly oily looking, and it tends to clash rather harshly with the shimmering blue that's spread over his lips. His thick eyelashes were wet from his watering eyes, and the skin under his eyes is slightly dark due to the tears that Ringo had quite obviously rubbed at. ('Ye didn't dab it, Ringo?!') His eyelids were bright orange, and because he didn't understand where to stop, he had gone all the way to his eyebrows. 

"Say what ye want abou' mine, lads, but George looks like a fuckin' bird that's from a strip club, to be honest," Ringo announces, and John lets out a girly gasp, messing around as he offers Paul a cigarette. "Yer jus' bein' mad daft, Ritchie," George snickers. 

"Wait wait, George, how do we take it off? Me Da's comin' home soon," Paul suddenly hisses after he glances at the clock, eyes widening in shock. Oh, his father would have an absolute fit if he saw their faces covered in makeup.  
"Uh, uhm, fuck, usin' water?!"  
So they're awkwardly trying to run upstairs, holding back their giggles as they burst into the bathroom, then each let out gasps when they see their reflections all together. "Jesus fuck, turn the tap on-", John shrieks, and they're all hopping about, rubbing at their faces with towels and cloths. John soon pokes his head up to see the others with makeup messily smeared across their faces, dripping down their necks, and starts laughing.  
"Paul, you've got pink all over your face!"  
When they see that Ringo's face is orange, they all begin to howl, Ringo himself included. 

Moments later, they've tried to wipe it all off, though there's some colour left on their lashes and necks. They all run back to the living room, racing around to pick up the makeup with frantic movements, bumping into eachother and stepping on brushes.  
"Shit, c'mon, we'll throw it all under my bed," Paul cries, and they're now scurrying to his room.

After that kerfuffle, they all flop down on Paul's bed.

"What a day, huh?"  
Everyone hums in agreement.

"I was being honest about George guys, he was hot-", and Paul's dissolving into a fit of laughter, while George hides his face in a pillow.  
Ringo simply pouts.


End file.
